


Whosoever Pulleth

by Daegaer



Category: Saiyuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: A different destiny, AU, Arthurian, Gen, Journey to the far west, Sword in the Stone, Young Sanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Whosoever Pulleth

It was miserable, sleeping out in the open. Rain, dirt and spiders all ended to fall down and lodge in the folds of Kouryuu’s robe. He shook them all off and trudged on, not caring much about any of it.

If he walked far enough, it would all make sense. Or he’d stop feeling so damn angry. Not that he wanted that, because he thought he might sit down then and cry like a baby. And he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t a baby. He wasn’t even a boy any more.

The road became wider, the cart ruts less muddy. It was practically a great highway in comparison to some of the paths he’d been on, although it was merely covered with gravel. Ahead of him was a town gate; he stopped and blew out his lip in annoyance. He really didn’t want to see any other human beings ever again, but he needed food.

It was tempting to sneak in like a kid on the run, so he strode in like he was the damn thirty-first Sanzo of China. Every single person ignored him. That was what happened when you were a new minted, rained-on Sanzo covered in dirt, spiders and only coming up to an adult man’s chest. People were drifting along, chattering about the omen so he drifted along with them. He could interpret this omen, get a bowl of rice and get the hell out of here.

The omen was a large granite boulder standing right in the middle of town, with barbarian script inscribed on it in gold. Right in the top of it, a large steel jian with a wider blade than usual was thrust down into the stone. It shone with a more than mortal gleam, the steel as bright and unspotted as if it had just been forged, and the scarlet leather wrapped around the hilt under the odd wide cross guard seeming to have just been dyed. The stone around the blade was weathered and moss grew up to the edges of the sword. It had clearly been in the stone for many years, despite appearances.

The crowd whispered and stared, as a young man tugged at the hilt. The jian didn’t even shiver in its position. He retired back into the crowd, laughing in a way that let everyone know he hadn’t cared one way or the other. It started a rush. Man after man, and more than one woman, tried to pull it out, none with any success. Soldiers, gangsters, tavern toughs, girls wearing far too much lipstick, a shy mother egged on by her child; none had success. People tried to prise off the golden writing, which stuck stubbornly to the rock. Then the town magistrate set up a guard and chased everyone away, saying it was causing a traffic hazard.

A very learned swordsman, a shining jian already slung across his back, came and meditated for an hour, uttered a spell and then tried to pull it out as the moon rose. He failed.

Through all of it, Kouryuu squatted down and watched the proceedings. It was ridiculous. Why make such a fuss over a rock with writing that no one could even read? The jian was held tight by a spell, that was obvious, and therefore was trouble. Anyone who courted trouble was an idiot. The fact that it was a noisy sword that wouldn’t shut up just meant it was noisy trouble.

“Are you going to have a go, little monk?” one of the town guards called as they took a break to eat.

Kouryuu shook his head. The guard grinned and came over to give Kouryuu a handful of his supper of rice and vegetables.

The damn rock throbbed all night, making it impossible to sleep. The golden writing glowed in the darkness. The jian shone with an unearthly light and whispered. And whispered. And whispered. It was incredibly irritating. At dawn Kouryuu had had enough and stamped over, exhausted and foul-tempered.

“You stop that, right now,” he snapped. “I’ve listened to you all night and I’m sick of it.”

He reached out a hand and put it on the jian’s hilt, and the damn thing slid free like it had been waiting five hundred years just for him. He gaped at it, then stared in shock and astonishment at the writing, finding it comprehensible, although still completely barbaric in form.

“Uh? Hey!” a guard cried, waking up. “You did it, kid! You? Out of everyone? What can this mean?”

Genjo, the thirty-first Sanzo of all China, looked from the jian to the shining writing and back again. He thought he’d had problems when he was appointed leader of the damn monastery.

“It means I’m going west,” he said. “Very, very far west.”


End file.
